A NIGHT IN A TUB 57 



the brain. Muttering curses on Canadian cartridges in 

 general, and upon tlie brand I was using in particular, I 

 threw down my gun in despair, got my pipe under way, 

 and settled myself amongst the straw in the tub to await 

 the coming of my fellow-fowler. 



Never shall I forget the disgust I felt while watching 

 the bunches of duck passing all round, while I sat helpless 

 in my infernal mash-tub. Hanging was too good for the 

 scoundrel who palmed off those worthless shells upon 

 me, an unsuspecting, innocent Britisher. 



At length the great fiery head of the sun appeared 

 above the blue horizon. The flight was practically over, 

 and my contribution to the bag was but a solitary 

 gargany. Gad, how Max Burg would chaff me ! 



As I sat cramped up in my Diogenesian retreat, 

 smoking and soHloquising upon the dishonesty of the 

 gunpowder world, the tall bamboo -like growth of reeds 

 fringing the pan suddenly parted, and the ugly bluff 

 nose of the German's boat poked its way through the 

 opening. 



" Veil, mein friend, you have had colossal sport ; how 

 many of ze ducks haf you killed ? " roared the bearded 

 giant, as he poled his heavy craft up to my " bhnd " as 

 though it were but a mere cork. 



" One," was my laconic reply, as I held up the 

 gargany for the edification of my companion, whose boat, 

 by the way, was half filled with many different kinds of 

 duck. 



" Ach ! you do joke, because I haf heard you shoot 



